my lil' bitch

Joe drove down from Canada to visit me this weekend. We've been itching to get together ever since we met in the Lonesome Canadian chat room on AOL.

I was neither lonesome nor Canadian. I was only looking to score some Canuck mangina!

And, to be honest, that was all I was thinking when he told me was coming to visit. I rushed out and purchased a new economy size tube of Astroglide and some of those balls-on-a-string that you shove up your butthole.

I met him at the door with nothing on but my old, worn-out gimp mask with the broken mouth zipper. But to my shock there he was on my doorstep with a dozen roses and a huge smile.

"Hey, Fu-Fu.....um, hmmmm, I don't quite know how to say this without offending you, but you're zipper's unzipped."

I quickly went to check my crotch only to remember that I wasn't wearing pants and he must've been referring to my gimp-mouth zipper.

I blushed and invited him in.

I scurried in to the bedroom to get some clothes on, silently cursing the fact that he didn't seem the type to give it up without at least dinner and a movie first. But I was also kinda relieved that his picture didn't do him justice at all. I mean, this motherfucker was a HUNK!

I had to quickly make new plans. I figured I'd take him to the all-you-can-eat buffet down at the Hot Dog King and then we'd go check out The Fox and the Hound at the fifty cent theater.

I was sure hoping that'd be enough for him to give it up cause I wanted what he had in a bad way.

On the way out the door I scoped his ass out to make sure it was rock hard like he said it was and it was. I swear to Christ I almost fainted. It looked like he had two halves of cantaloupes stuffed down the rear of his pants. I wanted to thump them to see if they were in season but he started walking too fast.

The buffet must've done the trick because right during that part when the fox meets the hound and the hound goes, "I'm a hound dog," in that southern drawl of his, Joe had all two and a quarter inches of my cock in his hand. I sure was glad I was erect or he might've made fun of my minute size.

Anyway....I'm not one to kiss and tell, not that there was much of that going on. He said he didn't like kissing "Johns" because it made it seem too personal.

I was taken aback at first. I was all, "You mean to tell me you're a hustler?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Fu-Fu...but I need fifty dollars to make you holler, eh," he grinned.

"But it cost you more than $50 in gas to get to here from Canada you fucking moron," I calmly explained to him.

He looked a little puzzled then he started counting shit out on his fingers and finally said. "AW FUCK! I won't have enough to get home even if you pay me, eh!"

To which I replied, "Well well well...looks like ol' Fu-Fu done got himself a little bitch don't it?" Then I spit on the ground for emphasis. "Well, bitch, go make me a sandwich."

He obliged.

I've got him locked up in the closet next to where we keep the cat litter box. He whimpers every now and then and sometimes I feel sorry for him and I let him out to take a shit or get something to drink or to give me oral pleasure, which, by the way, he can't get enough of.

So twelve percent beer was fun while it lasted. But I'm sorry to say that he won't be doing it any longer. You see, I found out that it actually was cantaloupes in his jeans after they started rotting and stinking up the cat's room. My punishment was to wrangle control of twelve percent and turn it into a porn site. He said, "Fine...can I still give you oral pleasure, eh?"

"You sure can, lil' buddy. You sure can."

July 16, 2002 | 10:07 p.m.

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